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by NicoleAnell



Category: Battlestar Galactica (2003)
Genre: F/M
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2008-12-23
Updated: 2008-12-23
Packaged: 2017-10-06 01:11:09
Rating: General Audiences
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 362
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/48073
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/NicoleAnell/pseuds/NicoleAnell
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>A Caprica/Tigh baby ficlet.</p>
            </blockquote>





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"You put that frakkin' kid down all day?" he says on his return from CIC. She does hold him often; this is something Saul teases her about. He says, "You'll be coddling him 'til he's out of flight school."

"He's still a baby," she says gently, smiling. The word hasn't stopped feeling strange, about something that's hers. "He's made for holding. God would've made him bigger."

She sees Saul take some tentative steps -- not quite toward the liquor drawer, not quite toward her -- and settle for putting his jacket away. He sometimes looks unsure where to go in the space he's been given. Caprica wonders if she had a "type", if that's all it would look like.

"If you'd come back ten minutes ago," she continues, "you'd see me between coddle, I promise."

In her arms Aram shifts and kicks and yawns. His father (that word is strange also, _mother_ even more) comes to take him, and Caprica admits in her head that he might be right about her, when she realizes she doesn't know what to do with her hands anymore. Saul says something to Aram too low for her to hear, and the baby makes a fist around his finger and looks at him quizzically.

It takes her half a minute to realize Saul is murmuring an off-key lullaby. (Caprica always wishes she knew more lullabies herself, the ones human children like, but then they are too silly or unnaturally violent for her to repeat them.) She's only heard him do this once before, while drunk. When Aram squints and smiles hugely, Caprica feels her whole body electrified with happiness and envy.

Saul has taken lately to falling asleep on her breast. Before it was her stomach, starting from month four or so. As if he could hear the drumming there, new and magical songs. As if it was the only thing that let him rest. They sleep with the door locked three ways, mortal and paranoid, Aram's cradle as close as it could be pushed. She traces the lines on his face, his end-of-day stubble and receding hair. Saul keeps his ear by her heart, waiting for the answers.


End file.
